


ataraxia at the end of the world

by orphan_account



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson), Coming of Age, Demigods, Growing Up, M/M, Mark-centric, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Rick Riordan Demigod Universe | Riordanverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:07:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29608503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Mark is six when he first realizes that he can hold his breath underwater for a bit longer than the other kids at the Flushing community pool.Or; a Percy Jackson au wherein Mark discovers the reason behind the bizarre occurences that keep happening to him with the help of Johnny and Ten
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Mark Lee & Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten, Mark Lee & Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten & Suh Youngho | Johnny, Mark Lee & Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 10
Kudos: 48
Collections: Challenge #5 — I heard a secret..





	ataraxia at the end of the world

Mark is six when he first realizes that he can hold his breath underwater for longer than the other kids at the Flushing community pool. 

_Five, four, three, two, one._ He counts, over and over again, until the numbers begin to melt together and the world begins to spin on its axis. Until the memories of hallway escapes begin to fade away

And most of all, until the picture of Montauk Beach comes swimming back like the drunken goldfish that run laps around the algae-covered tanks at the Chinese-Korean fusion place where his mother works.

Holding his knees close to his chest, Mark tries his best to keep his eyes shut and let himself sink to the mosaic tiles of the pool floor, unperturbed. Mark finds tranquility blanketed by chlorine and water. 

He finds his peace dismissed when a splash pierces the surface of the water. Hasty hands shake his shoulders before dragging him to the pool side with much desperation. 

As the lifeguard interrogates him even further on what he'd been doing, Mark can only think about how far along the pool clock's minute hand has travelled much.

Mark is six when he realizes why the other kids look at him funny after swimming class.

☆ 

Mark bites his lip as his mother hands him the last quarter of her lobster roll. A part of him wants to turn back time and remind himself not to scarf down his own at the rate that he did - but then again, he’s been running around the beach for hours. He’d even made time to build a sandcastle with that one kid who’d been visiting rather frequently. Renjun, was it?

He eats it, though, and his mother smiles - a wholehearted one. Her eyes are tired but even Mark can tell that she’s enjoying the time they have together to actually chat about what’s been going on in their lives. Because at the edge of eight, Mark understands that having three working jobs that drives you out of bed at four in the morning and back at seven at night can wear down on you like nothing else.

“Great birthday?” his mother asks, her tone almost forlorn as she stares at the coastline; her piercing brown eyes search for something that’s clearly not there. The grip her left arm has on Mark’s shoulders tightens at one point, though why he isn’t sure.

“Definitely,” Mark nods as he leans his head to his mother’s arm, trying not to think about her actions too much. _She’s got her reasons,_ he tells himself. 

And as Mark brushes away his doubts, he’s sure he sees two figures, one much taller than the other, disappear from the corner of his eye.

☆ 

“Be careful, dear,” his mother tells him as she presses her lips onto his tuft of ruffled black hair, smoothing it down with her worn hands. “First day of fourth grade! Try not to flood the bathroom again.”

“I won’t,” Mark huffs, straightening his backpack. “That was _one time_ , eomma.”

“I know. It’s fun to tease you, though,” Ms. Lee responds with a grin before handing her son a ten dollar bill, much to his bewilderment. “Here - don’t spend it recklessly, okay?”

Mark furrows his brows and looks away, causing his mother to chuckle loudly. So much for finally being able to go to the comic book place a few subway stops away and getting the latest copy of whatever Marvel spread they had in store.

“Alright, alright, you can go get a comic.”

“Really?”

“First day gift,” she nods, “in exchange for no flooded bathrooms and no calls from principals.”

Mark can work with that.

☆ 

The trinkets that line the shelves of the local gift shop are dusty at best. Some of the fishing hooks have started to rust and peel, leaving red-tinted metal to rot in a corner for the rest of its life. Mark’s not quite sure why he’s here in this little store - after all, he’s spent nearly every summer of his life in this stupid little fishing town.

Mark finds it hard to spend what little money on another stupid magnet with the same image but old habits die hard. And considering how he’s never been further than Jersey within the span of his entire life, the memory of Montauk is enough to remind him that there is life outside of Flushing. 

“What’s taking you so long?” A voice groans from the entrance of the shop. Iit doesn’t take Mark much time to recognize that it’s one of the two boys he’s seen around the village throughout the past month of summer break. Although Mark can’t see him, he’s also certain that it'd been the shorter one with tan skin and unfamiliar accent.

“Gods, Ten. Hold on a minute - sand got in my shoe.” The other one responds - the taller of the two - sighing loudly as they both enter the store. Mark blinks at the mention of the boy's name as he heads to the cash register to pay for the magnet. 

“That’ll be four dollars,” the attendant informs him as they begin to stuff in the souvenir into a paper bag.

As Mark fumbles to find the Lincoln in his pocket, a hand swoops in from behind him to slap a hundred dollar bill on the counter. _Ten._

“I’ll pay for it, and I’ll also get this,” he tells the attendant briskly. From up close, Ten is beautiful, with his button nose, striking cropped blue hair and million-dollar smirk. Mark can’t deny how his heart begins to race as the older boy begins to fold his arms behind him.

“It’s only four dollars, though,” Mark mutters in befuddlement.

“I heard them the first time - Johnny here is just demanding a shit ton of salted caramel taffy.”

Mark decides then and there that he thinks Ten is perhaps the coolest person he’s ever met.

☆ 

Mark is twelve when he realizes that there’s something wrong with him. The lengthy words he jots down for his Biology report seem to fly off the pages and the video game characters on his computer screen begin to contort themselves like origami toys.

The one time he tries explaining it to his friends, they tell him to get glasses.

They’re not mean. They just don’t get it.

The glasses take a while to get. A couple months turn into a year until Mark and his mother can confidently jog up the steps at an optometrist in a slightly better neighborhood. The metal frame of his American Eagle glasses feel cold and foreign on his hands.

The glasses help, but not in the way his friends tell him they would. He passes his first year of middle school, albeit not with flying colours. 

Mark tells himself it’s alright, that things will find their way somehow if they’re meant to be. At least that’s what his mother always tells him when he asks about his father.

“One day, Mark - one day.”

☆ 

“What’s so good about this town anyways?” Ten questions as he blows a puff of smoke into the air. He’d offered a cigarette to Mark earlier, but Johnny had plucked it from his best friend’s hand.

“Memories, I guess.” Mark shrugs in response as he takes in a deep breath. He’s not exactly looking as forward to going back to Flushing as he usually is. “My mom met my dad here.”

“Oh.” 

It’s not like Mark’s surprised, honestly; half the people who know him think it’s weird how his mother commemorates his absentee father every summer with a trip to the place where they’d met. But he’d figured that Johnny and Ten would be different. 

Of course, he’d been wrong.

“It’s weird, I know.” Mark shakes his head to dismiss the matter as he dusts the grains of sand from his pair of shorts.

“No, my mom’s the same, too. She still drinks the wine my dad used to like with her dinner every day,” Johnny chuckles, ruffling Mark’s hair to lighten the mood. “It’s not even good, honestly, like who even likes Sauvignon Blanc? White wine's the worst,.” he adds, rolling his eyes. Mark looks away to avoid laughing and Ten sighs in return. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean - we cling on to what we have left, and that’s okay.”

Maybe it is.

☆ 

The summer before 9th grade comes hurling faster than the balls of tumbleweed on the beach at Hither Hills. Before Mark can dwell too much on his rather colorful report card, he finds himself whisked away to Montauk again.

Money’s been tight this year with his mother losing one of her three part-time jobs. While he knows he’ll have more time with his mother for the next while, Mark can’t help but feel like it's another sign that things are changing. 

Something about the fact that he’ll never be able to go back to the laundromat again and play with marbles on the tile floor only reminds him that his childhood is nearing the end. That highschool is just over the horizon. 

Mark sits on the edge of the sandy hill that towers above their rented cabin, watching the clusters of tourists admire the setting sun in all its amber glory. He wishes that he’d never said yes to this year’s trip. Mark sighs softly; it’s not like rent’s been easy to make without scraping around their savings, 

Because apparently no matter how many times Mark runs up this stupid lets himself take in the ocean breeze, things won’t change. No matter how many times he tells Mrs. Shelby that he was not the one who slammed their hands on the shark exhibit at the New York Aquarium so hard that the glass began to crack, she still won’t believe-.

“Wait, you _actually_ manipulated him?” a voice from below the hill exclaims, deep and evidently frustrated.

“How’d you even find out?” the other whispers back, voice filled with malice.

“I spoke to him earlier and he didn’t recognize me! Explain that, Ten!”

“What do you mean? You told me to, Johnny!” 

“But I didn’t actually mean it. Mark’s fourteen! He should be in camp right now, he’s a fucking _demigod._ ”

Mark swallows, hard, as his heart begins to race. Who are these people? What’s camp? And what even was a demi-

“He doesn’t know yet and he won’t have to!” Ten shoots back., “Look, all the signs point to him being _his_ kid and you know that automatically puts him in a riskier situation than either one of us.”

“I know! Still would honestly rather have him know and train than let him be in the dark forever and get killed one day!“

_Thud!_

“Get killed?” Mark inquires a bit too loudly. His knees and knuckles smart a fiery red, a product of his jump from the hill's edge. 

“Shit, shit, shit, he’s realized,” the other boy begins to curse, eyes shifting from Johnny and then back to Mark. He grabs Mark’s wrist and begins to steer him further away from the tourists that crowd the beach. “Are there any of them around?”

“I think - I’m pretty sure I saw a Hyperborean earlier, not sure how it made its way here to Montauk. Since it’s just the two of us, I don’t think it recognized us,” Johnny answers, his smile beyond cordial. 

“Hyper what? What are you talking about?“ 

Mark’s inquiry is brushed off as an even louder thud falls behind the three of them. While being somewhat of a comic book fanatic has rendered him rather unamused by the wonders of life, Mark still knows that nothing - Not even a Junji Ito, honestly - could prepare him for the sight that unfurls before his eyes. 

His jaw drops to the ground as he sees a man - no, there was no way it’s a man - begin to hound after the three of them. Because no man can grow to the height of a basketball hoop and a half - well, no one that Mark knew of, at least. As Ten clutches his wrist again and they begin to book it to the other side of the shore, Mark finally regains most of his awareness and his eyes travel to the face of the creature. It looks almost normal, really, reminding him of the slobbery titans in his favorite anime show. 

But then he sees it - a single eye in the center of the creature’s forehead. A cyclops.

“Mark, listen - we need to keep running and call enforcement,” Johnny begins to explain as he follows in pursuit of the younger boy, “I can tell you right now that neither one of us is equipped to kill this thing at least.” 

“You want to kill it?” Mark asks, voice shrill and fearful as the cyclops begins to approach them, slowly but surely.

“Well not exactly, the oracle told me to bring _ataraxia_ at the last minute,” Johnny begins, his gaze shifting from Ten to Mark and back to Ten, “and you know how it’s technically locked.” 

“We have to give it to him,” Ten mouths as he stretches out his palm towards Johnny, avoiding the worried expression on Mark’s face.

“Are you _crazy_?” Johnny mutters back in disbelief, but even so he begins to dig around his jean pockets as they take a sharp left in hopes of distracting the creature.

“Mark, do you think you can kill it if we gave you this-” Ten offers as they crouch down beneath a cliff, praying that the creature is mindless enough not to follow them there. In the expanse of his smooth palm is a spotless silver fountain pen that looks like something straight out of Montblanc’s front window display.

Now it’s Mark’s turn to scoff - how is he, a scrawny fourteen year old boy with an absolute lack of physical exercise, supposed to knock out a creature of that size with a pen? 

“You do realize this atara thing is a pen, right?” Mark suggests slowly as he picks up the pen and begins to examine the golden fixtures that decorate it. “A _pen_.”

“Goddamnit, that’s why you shouldn’t interrupt me!” Ten barks back, losing his patience causing Johnny to cover his mouth to prevent him from snickering aloud, “Look, you’re supposed to open the cap of the pen and-“ 

If the news about the cyclops and the whole demigod schtick hadn’t frightened Mark enough, this was it. As Mark twists the cap open he finds himself thanking god - or was it _the_ gods now because of this whole situation - that he didn’t point the tip of the pen at his chest, because all of a sudden the blade of a two-and-a- half foot long sword is pointed into the air opposite to him.

Oh.

At the sight of ataraxia in its full form, Mark’s head begins to spin but even so, both Johnny and Ten see him wielding the sword as an opportunity to run from their hiding spot and to attack the creature. From here, Mark is shielded from the creature, but he knows it’s simply a matter of time before it’s his turn to become cyclops chow. 

But then he sees it - vines, bursting from the sandy soil beneath the creature, wrapping around the legs of cyclops like a python in one of those documentaries Mark watched at school. His eyes find Johnny and his hands in the air, mirroring the actions of a conductor, commanding the creeping ivy to move to his will. 

Ten stands directly in front of the creature, his eyes trained at the beast’s -. aAlmost as if he’s talking to it in its head, telling it to remain silent as it awaits its own execution.

“Mark! Slice its head off!” Johnny shouts at him upon noticing his departure from underneath the edge. “I’ll grow some of the vines behind the thing and you can reach its neck like that!”

Upon hearing Johnny's words, Mark lifts up ataraxia with both his hands and makes his way to his designated spot.

The ivy, as Johnny promised, tightens around Mark’s legs and lifts him from the ground. Mark, chest pounding, attempts to go for the creature’s legs but it only makes the cyclops more agitated, giving it the greenlight to begin clawing its hands towards Johnny to escape. 

In a moment of desperation, Mark looks at the shore, observing the glimmering sunset behind them. Would this be his last? There are still many things that he hasn’t figured out and it feels bittersweet to think that they might remain unsolved. 

_Dad_ , he mouths silently.

Suddenly something takes control of him, the distinct scent of salt water wrapping around him like a cloak sent straight from the ocean bed. What is this? Mark questions as he lifts the sword up into the air. But before he can think much, his hands jerk forward and he finds himself piercing the cyclops’ armored neck. 

Within mere seconds the body begins to dissolve within the span of seconds, golden flakes left behind begin to float in the air around him. Breathless, Mark falls to his knees, crawling to the line where land meets the sea, letting his fingers toy with the gravel and the water to heal him.

“Holy shit.” He’s sure Ten gasps from a few feet away, his gaze glued to whatever is above Mark’s head. As he looks up, Mark sees a fading hologram depicting a trident of turquoise light. 

“Ten, you were right.” Johnny grins in amusement, "Looks like we've got ourselves the son of the sea god."

**Author's Note:**

> Glossary : 
> 
> Ataraxia - A state of freedom from emotional disturbance and anxiety; tranquility
> 
> Demigod - Otherwise known as half-bloods, they are a race of beings that are half-mortal and half-god
> 
> ‘the End’- Montauk is known by many Long Island residents as such as it is the easternmost point of the island and New York state
> 
> Oracle - The Oracles are beings and places that can give prophecies in Greek mythology
> 
> I would also like to clarify just in case it wasn’t all that evident within the fic that Johnny is a son of Dionysus, the god of wine, Ten is a son of Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty and love whereas Mark is a son of Poseidon, the god of the ocean.


End file.
